The Mommy Blog
by cajunqueen714
Summary: Imagine if Beca Mitchell-Swanson was an award winning journalist for Rolling Stone Magazine but decided to take a break to have children. What would her life be like? Would it be filled with mass chaos or would everything be calm and serene or would she blog all about it?


**A/N: Got the idea for this fic after watching "Moms' Night Out". I could totally see Beca in the role of the main character, decided that I had to put my own spin on it, Beca-ify this story and make it a fic.**

**Thank you Corinne (waatp) for the encouragement & the kick in the ass. Without you I wouldn't have posted this at all. xx**

* * *

><p>"Ok." Beca sighed. "It's blog time. I am a Mommy blogger. I'm supposed to be writing about the music industry; snagging interviews with the biggest hit makers of our time, but no, that's not what I'm doing. I'm a Mommy. A mommy that has put her dream job and career at Rolling Stone Magazine on hold to be stay at home mom and raise her kids, because that's what all good mommies do... right?<p>

Well, get ready world for some interesting Mommy pearls of wisdom a-la Beca Swanson. So, ready or not here we go!

I pull up my blog page and BAM! There it is, like a giant slap to the face.

Oh, this is just fucking great! I've got three followers. _Three_ fucking followers. Yesterday, I had four; that's so awesome. Sooo, fucking awesome! Oh well, what the hell? My audience of three awaits."

* * *

><p><strong>May 10th, 2015 - BLOG #3<strong>

"_It's 5am. Do you know where your children are? Mine are in bed. I should be in bed. It's Mother's Day... but I'm not in bed. I don't know why. Except... that I really do know why. Do you wanna know why I'm not in bed? It's because I'm a clean freak! I am talking freak, super freaky as in 'A place for everything and everything in it's place' kinda gal._

_If you were to put me in a straight jacket and lock me in a padded cell it would actually feel... well, strangely comforting. As long as everything was spotless and everyone wore shoes, I would be comfortable. I'm weird or a weirdo, as my husband has affectionately called me since college. I can actually feel the house getting dirty. Like I have nerve endings in the carpet, on the walls and in the hardwood floors. This affects me in the strangest ways. Wanna know how? _

_First, I feel distracted. Like right now, I'm having trouble writing this blog because I'm thinking of the cleaning supplies I left out and how one of my children is going to get up and drink Clorox. I'd end up having to call Poison Control and have some Aubrey Posen wannabe would say, 'I'm sorry Mrs. Swanson, you've called us one too many times this month.' And then they would show up on my doorstep and promptly take my kids away. I've played it all out in my head. Which is kinda scary... morbid even. _

_I guess you're all wondering who the hell Aubrey Posen is. Well, she's a friend from college. She's a military brat and the most organized person known to man. She carries a clipboard with a laminated itinerary everywhere she goes. She has a list for everything and everything has a list. She also has this thing about color coding and coordinating, which I'll admit has become useful since I do have three kids under the age of seven._

**_Moving on…_**

_After I feel distracted, I feel stressed! I know… you're all saying, 'What Mom on the planet isn't stressed?' The problem is stress causes me to have moments. And my moments, are never, ever good. _

_**Moment #1:**_

_We were on the way out to dinner with my father and step-monster, that's an entirely different story for an entirely different blog, when my youngest son, Parker, began banging his Buzz Lightyear action figure against the window of the minivan while my daughter, Finley screamed, 'Mommy! Mommy! Moooommmmyyyyy!' until I finally turned around._

_I turned to face Finley, who is was strapped into her car seat and yelled, "I am ... talking ... to Dad-dee!" _

_This is me having a moment with my daughter and what follows is my husband, Jesse; the sweet, loving man that he is, trying to talk me down from said moment._

"_Babe, about your stress level…" Jesse begins._

"_What about it!" I snapped back._

"_... Well, it's a little high... dontcha think?"_

"_I… uhh… gee… I..." I begin to babble feeling my cheeks start to flush._

"_Did you hear that psycho thing you just did?" Jesse asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road._

"_Whoa! Did you just call me 'psycho'?"_

"_No." Jesse says, but I can physically see him clamp his lips together._

"_Did you just call me 'psycho'?" I repeat with this deranged, psycho Mommy look on my face._

"_No, no... no I did not." Jesse said, but that sweet mouth of his was trying not to laugh._

_Ok, so he was right. I, and the situation that had just occurred, was a little psycho._

_**Moment #2… 5 whole minutes later**_

_Then I had another moment with some helpless newlyweds at a red light. We pulled up next to them in their little sports car that screamed 'no kids'. I reached over Jesse, put the driver's side window down and called out to them. _

'_We just wanted to say Congratulations...' I shout to the unsuspecting couple who look mildly alarmed, which is understandable as I've not yet brushed my hair or taken off yesterday's makeup. '... and savor this moment in your lives because you're going to blink and it's all going to be over. All of it. Pretty soon you will have traded in that cute little convertible you're driving for this.' I say as I motion to our minivan. _

_I couldn't help myself, the words just started falling out of my mouth like word vomit. Yes… I said word vomit. Aubrey Posen style word vomit. _

'_That convertible symbolizes your last bit of happiness and freedom before you have kids and they take over everything. Every last second of your life. You no longer have the luxury of coming and going as you please. You can't even pee in peace or without an audience. NO! You wanna know why? Because these cute, cuddly little garden gnomes who smell of breast milk and worlds of promise, move into your house, consume all of your time, zap every last ounce of your energy, suck your breasts so dry they feel like the Sahara Desert, eat all of your food, make a mess and destroy your home with heavy artillery.' _

_The look on that poor girls face as I shouted these things to her was the look absolute of dread. I crushed her fairytale, her happily ever after... crushed! I crushed it and not Fat Amy style either, more about her later. I murdered it. I, Beca Swanson, am a fairy tale murderer._

_I'm like the Bruce Banner of stay at home mom's. He doesn't want to turn into the Hulk, it just sorta happens. Which is exactly how I feel. I love my kids. I love my husband. My minivan… well, my minivan is AWESOME! It's the best damn minivan there is. I have this incredible life. So, why do I feel this way?_

* * *

><p>I'm laying in bed. I'm tired, exhausted really, and laying face down with my head wedged in between two pillows, my ass exposed to the world when I hear, "MOM!"<p>

"MOM!"

"MOMMY!" Finley wails.

Startled, I jump up, grab my cellphone and make a mad dash for the stairs. This can't be good. Yelling this early in the morning is never good. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I make a U-turn and find that Owen, Finley and Parker have destroyed the house. The _entire_ fucking house. The house I _just_ scrubbed from top to bottom last night. It was pristine. Ladies Home Journal ready. And now it was destroyed.

The family room is an absolute disaster and the kitchen... well, let's just say it looked like an atomic bomb had gone off. There was flour and sugar everywhere. Every condiment from the refrigerator was on the counter. Broken eggs, cereal, oatmeal, spilled milk and juice dripped from the counter.

I watched in horror as Finley squeezed the pancake syrup into a bowl full of miscellaneous goo. Parker, my 2 year old, was perched precariously on the counter with his hands covered in whatever concoction Finley was brewing. It was a frightening sight.

"Surprise!" Owen yelled, looking so proud of himself. "We made you breakfast!"

"Happy Mother's Day!" Finley and Parker scream as my eyes continue to dart around the room and I try not to have a panic attack.

I should be happy that they made "_breakfast"_, instead all is see is germs and salmonella. I'm a germaphobe, salmonella-phobe and this… _this_ is my worst nightmare come true. Salmonella, on the floor, germs on the counter, germs on my children. Salmonella is everywhere. This is going to take forever to clean and disinfect.

**~o~O~o~**

Last week, Finley's doll ended up in the toilet. Parker thought it would be funny to try and flush her, luckily, I walked in when I did. So, pulled my rubber gloves on, reached into the toilet and saved the doll from a fate worse than death. '_Is this how the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were born?'_ I thought to myself. Had someone's kid thrown an innocent pet turtle into the toilet and successfully flushed it, transforming it into a mutant ninja by sending to to the sewer to live among the rodents, germs and gook? I shuddered at the mere thought and cussed Jesse because he made me watch that damn movie.

I threw the doll into a bucket and ran outside as quickly as I could, where I emptied her into the firepit and I burned her. I doused her in kerosene and I burned that poor doll. Ok, so I didn't realize that particular doll was one of Finley's favorites and I do feel only slightly bad about that but I don't feel bad about ridding my home of germs. I couldn't in good conscious let Finley play with that doll ever again knowing she'd been in the toilet.

**~o~O~o~**

"We're going to play a little game." I announce to the kids as I get the closest bottle of Germ-x and a package of baby wipes. "Parker... don't you do it. Don't you dare do it. No sir, do not put that in your mouth."

Oh no, no, no... he's gonna eat it. He's going to put his finger in his mouth and become one of the estimated 400 people that die from acute salmonella poisoning every year, which I read about on a blog somewhere. "Do not put your finger in your mouth!" I scream as I run across the sticky floor to save my baby from death.

**Five minutes later...**

"Hello... Finley Swanson's house." Finley says as she answers my cellphone.

"How 'bout '_this is Beca Swanson's cellphone. How may I help you?'_." Jesse tried coaching our 4 year old daughter.

"Daddy!"

"Hi baby! Is Mommy there?"

"Mommy! Phone!" Finley yells into Jesse's ear.

"Wow! Who knew my sweet baby girl would have a set of lungs that rivaled an army general?" Jesse said as he pulled the phone from his ear.

"Finley... I'm upstairs changing Parker's diaper." I responded taking my eyes off Parker for 10 seconds at most. When I turned back around, he was gone. Just that quick. "Parker! Parker! Where the hell did he go?" I asked no one in particular. I swear that kid runs faster than a Kenyan competing in the damn Olympics.

"Here's Daddy." Finley says as she jumps on our bed pulling Parker up with her. Where the hell did she find him?

"Hey babe." Jesse says in his familiar loving tone as I put my phone to my ear.

"Jess... please, please tell me you're on the plane and that you're getting ready to take off."

"Let's start with Happy Mother's Day." he says, still calm as ever.

"Ok. Thank you. Fine. Whatever. Look, I just need to know you're on the damn plane."

"Mommy." Finley says pulling on my stained pajama bottoms. Putting the phone down and not listening to anything that Jesse was rambling on about, I turned to Finley. "I made you this." she says handing me a picture that she's drawn.

"Aww sweetie, you made this for me." I ask as I look at the multi-colored stick figures she's drawn trying not to blanche at how fat she's made my ass.

"Yes." she said proudly. "You wanna know why you're the biggest in my picture?"

"Why?"

"Because you love us the most of everybody." she says with the signature Swanson wink.

"This is such a great picture Finn, but where's Daddy?"

"Up in the plane, in the sky, where he always is." Finley said pointing to the plane she drew in the clouds.

Jesse was still on the phone listening to Finley and I talking. "Ouch! That's not right." I could hear him say.

"Mom!" Owen yelled. "Parker's playing in the toilet again!"

"No. No, no, no... not the potty. Not the potty." Jesse said as I put the phone back to my ear.

"Parker! Come here buddy!" I called. "Jess, I've been thinking and I've decided that I don't want to celebrate Mother's Day ever again."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I am terrible at this. In every. Single. Way. So just, do not celebrate me." I told him as I walked down the stairs with Parker on my hip.

"What? Come on. You are an awesome mom." Jesse says. "I'll admit, the kids are messy..."

"Messy? You have no idea!"

"Babe, come on, kids get messy."

"Oh no!"

"Bec… what's going on?" Jesse asked.

"I ran out of space on the paper so I drew the rest on the wall." Finley tells me with her hands in the air as if being arrested.

"Finley Grace! Not the wall, not again. Please for the love of all that's sacred, not the damn wall." I'm so far beyond exasperated at this point. I'm overwhelmed and all I can think is that I don't have the energy to shit butterflies and piss rainbows today. I just don't have it in me.

"The wall? She colored on the wall again? You've got to be kidding me! What kind of markers did she use this time?" He asked. "Babe… babe? Beca, are you there?"

I couldn't talk to him any longer so I hung up. He had been in New York collaborating with Stephen Sondheim. Together, they're working on the film adaption of the Broadway musical Wicked. I knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime for him but he had been back and forth twelve times in the last four months. This time he had been gone for ten days. He left me alone with our children for ten days. Ten days straight. I wasn't even really sure what the hell day it was, well, that wasn't entirely true. It was Mother's Day and Mother's Day always falls on Sunday. So Sunday it was, but I still had no idea of the time. He was going to pay for this when he got back. He was going to pay for it dearly.

**~o~O~o~**

I was just trying to get to church. Church was my place of refuge. If you had asked me to say that twelve years ago, I would have told you to fuck off, but it was the one place where I could get an hour to myself thanks to Sunday School. I could drop the kids off in their classrooms and head into the sanctuary for some peace and most importantly, _alone_ time.

As we drove to church, I was once again reminded that I'm a mother. I can no longer listen to the top 40 hits because the kids demand that I play their 'Disney Jr. CD' and because it keeps them relatively quiet, I play it. I couldn't give two shits or a fuck about the 'Choo Choo Boogie' or 'Blue Ribbon Bunny' but I decide to do as I've heard Elsa sing so many times and 'Let It Go'. Damn it if that song doesn't make you grit your teeth and cuss like Annie's 'The Sun'll Come Out' does. I don't need the sun, I need a drink.

As we pull into the church parking lot, I'm suddenly filled with dread. I looked around at the other mom's that are just glowing with perfection. Their perfectly coiffed hair, make-up neatly applied, perfectly pressed summer dresses, fabulous designer shoes and handbags I was hardly able to get dressed. My hair is thrown up in a messy ponytail bun looking thing, my make-up is half on and I look like I've just stepped out of Armageddon. Ok, so maybe it wasn't that bad but it certainly wasn't good either.

"Ok, kiddos… best behavior please, it's Mother's Day." I plead with my children as I pull the visor down and begin applying my mascara. I need to do something to look more alive and less like a dead mommy.

"Mommy, let me do it." Finley says as she unbuckles her car seat.

"No baby, we're running really late today. I'll be really quick."

"Let me dooooooooo iiiiittttttttttt!" she yells in my face as I wince.

I'm not afraid to admit that I _want_ to smack her. Like really smack the everloving fool out of my daughter, but the rational side of me kicks in as I look the little shit in the eye and dare her to scream at me again.

**~o~O~o~**

Chloe, is the Pastor's wife. She's my Yoda, Dumbledore, Mr. Miyagi, Maya Angelou, Dr. Phil, and Oprah all rolled up into one sweet bundle of goodness and cheer. Her only perceived flaw is that she has absolutely no idea what autocorrect is. She and technology do not get along... at all.

Chloe and her husband, Pastor Ben Applebaum have two children. Their son Declan, is a Senior in high school and is a major theater nerd. Their daughter Emily, is a Sophomore and quite the social butterfly. She reminds me a lot of Ariel from the movie Footloose and definitely gives Ben and Chloe a run for their money.

When I spoke to Chloe last Sunday, Emily was trying to talk her parents into letting her go to the Bonnaroo Music Festival. It's like a modern day Woodstock and everything that the Applebaum family is not.

**~o~O~o~**

The ever youthful Chloe is standing in her usual spot near the front door greeting everyone as they walk into the church. Her bright shining face is the face that I look forward to seeing the most as I stumble in harried and hurried and quite possibly half dressed.

"Hey Beca." She says. Her voice is full of sunshine and sparkles. "Are you having a rough morning?"

"Chlo, just please... please, tell me it's all going to be ok." I beg her suddenly fighting the urge to cling onto her arm as tightly as possible.

"It's all gonna be o.k. just give it five to seven years." she tells me with a bright smile, as she tries fixing my clothes and hair. Her expression changes slightly for the briefest of moments as she pulls a sticker off the side of my face.

"Five to seven years?!" I repeat back to her.

"Yeah, something like that." She says rubbing my arm to calm me as I try desperately to wrangle my children. "Do you want me to help you with the kids?"

"Owen! What are you doing? Get over here!"

"Do you need some help?" Chloe asks again.

"No! I've got it." I bark at her. "Come on. Let's go. This way... march!" I tell the kids as I begin dragging them across the front lobby of the church. The sooner I can get them into their Sunday School classes, the sooner I can relax.

**~o~O~o~**

Stacie is one of my best friends. We met on the very first day of kindergarten and we've been thick as thieves ever since. We have seen each other through everything over the years. She was always attractive, outgoing and popular one and I was the brainy introvert with braces and frizzy hair.

Her husband Donald is a great guy but he's always had three fears: clowns, biker gangs and small children. He hates Halloween because of all the costumes, yet the poor dude still chooses to answer the damn door every single time a kid knocks. If I live to be one hundred, I'll never get it.

It's for this reason that I'll never understand _how _on Earth Stacie talked him into helping her with her Sunday School class. Donald needed constant reassurance when it came to kids. He was an only child of parents who were also only children so he had zero experience growing up around little people. When Stacie told him she was pregnant, he fainted. Passed smooth out. Broke his nose and his glasses, blood spewed everywhere. Weeks later, when they found out they were having twins, he fainted again. Luckily, that time he went over backwards.

When Aiden and Zoey were born, Donald ended up in the bed right next to Stacie. He passed out in the delivery room at the first sign of blood. He bashed his head on the way down, splitting it open and gave himself a concussion. So, ten stitches, two babies and two hospital bills later and Stacie was officially in Mommy Heaven. Aiden and Zoey were perfect despite their father being as useless as tits on a boar hog.

**~o~O~o~**

When we got to Parker's classroom, I handed him over to his Aunt Stacie and tried to make a beeline to the ladies room.

"Hey Bec!"

"Yeah Stace."

"Don't shoot the messenger but the Sunday School Coordinator said to tell you to remember your number."

"Ok fine! Whatever, just please don't page me over something trivial."

"Umm, newsflash... the fire department didn't think it was trivial."

I sighed. Could anything else go wrong today? "Stace, look at me." I said as I removed my sunglasses.

"AH!" Stacie said as she jumped back. "What in the world happened to you?"

"Finley happened to me. Look, I just need one hour to myself. It's Mother's Day... please." I begged.

"I could use an hour too but I'm stuck here with fifteen toddlers."

I put my hands together as if praying and said, "Thank you, thank you… You, my bestie, are a Saint and I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. And fix that eye make-up! It's really weird, even for me." She yelled as I walked down the hall.

**~o~O~o~**

I had five minutes before the service started. Just enough time to go to the ladies room and fix what Finley had done to my face with the mascara wand. I literally took everything out of the stylish Vera Bradley diaper bag I was carrying in search of a baby wipe. I had three kids, certainly I had to have baby wipes. Wrong! Damn it, I had everything but baby wipes.

I turned to the automatic paper towel dispenser and waved my hand in front of the sensor… Nothing! You've got to be fucking kidding me right now. I wave again and again and again. Still nothing. So, I stick my hands up into the dispenser but I can't reach the towels.

"Work!" I yelled at the dispenser as I continued to wave my hands around like a spaz. "Work! Work! Work! Why won't you work?!" I'm not above smacking the shit out of the dispenser or thumping it a few times. "Come on! Oh for the love of G- ... come on your piece of sh-"

And then I hear it, the toilet flushing that tells me I'm not alone and out from the closest stall walks the Deacon's wife, Georgia.

There she is in all her perfectly starched, prim and proper glory. She doesn't say a word, she just looks at me with pity. I _loathe_ pity. In that moment, I also hate her floral dress and matching cardigan, pearl necklace, perfect hair and flawless make-up. I watch her as she washes her hands then walks over to the paper towel dispenser I was just at war with, she waves her hand and boom... out slides a paper towel, just like that. What is this fuckery?

You have got to be fucking kidding me right now. Is this a fucking conspiracy? It's gotta be. Is Ashton Kutcher gonna pop out of some corner and Punk me?! Why is the universe and everyone in it against me? I just want to throw myself on the floor and cry but I can't because I'm in a public restroom and even though this is church, the number of germs present is astronomical.

After Miss. Hoity Toity makes her swift exit, I try yet again to get a paper towel to dispense from the fickle machine. Whadda ya know? No dice! This fucker is having a field day pissing me off. It's literally laughing in my face. So, if I can't beat'em, I'll join'em. I break out into a fit of laughter because if I don't, I'll cry and that will not help my current make-up situation.

**~o~O~o~**

I finally get it together, clean myself up and walk into the service... late. Better late than not at all, I tell myself. Seeing a spot in the last pew, just big enough for me, I walk quietly over and ask the gentleman on the end if I can squeeze by. Well, judging by his attitude and the look on his face, someone has just recently put Fatty McGee on a diet, because if looks could kill I would have dropped dead right there in the aisle. Perhaps, if I had been a bacon double cheeseburger, French fries and a milkshake, I might have stood a better chance.

The asshole wouldn't get up and let me walk into the pew. Nooo, he had to stay sitting on his big, fat ass while I crawled over him, which he no doubt enjoyed. Then he had the nerve to give me the stank eye when I asked him to pass me my shoe back; the one I'd lost when climbing over his tree stumps. The freak actually sniffed it as he handed it back to me.

Why? For the love of all things Holy, why? Because he's lonely, unloved and in a bad mood, and that's why he goes to the airport a few times a week, so he can get a pat down. It's probably the most action the poor guy has ever gotten. For that reason alone, I should probably forgive him.

I wasn't in church for even five minutes, when Stacie showed up.

"Beca!" she whisper yelled over the fat man.

"What?" I hissed back.

"Look, I know you didn't want to be paged but here's the thing…"

I give her the death glare; the one that usually causes Jesse to cover his junk. I want more than anything to make her disappear. What does she not understand? I need an hour. One hour, that's it. Is that too much to ask?

"As you know, Parker has been blessed with the big ol' Swanson head and well, those are extremely small potties in there, but good news…" she says, her eyes bright and proud, "... we found a screwdriver. I mean, we got the seat off the toilet but we don't know how to get it off Parker's head."

"WHAT!" I shriek.

And there it is; that moment when everyone in the damn church turns and stares. Ben's sermon comes to an abrupt halt. He tries to redirect everyone's attention back to the front by asking his mom to lead the church in song.

Damn you Jesse Swanson! Damn you and your big fucking head. Damn you for not being here. Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!

"No. No. No. This cannot be happening to me right now." I say as I crawl back over Fatty McGee. I'm pretty sure he copped a feel and quite possibly saw things he shouldn't have seen but fuck it! Who gives a good damn anymore? I can't even have an hour of peace, not even in the house of the Lord.

Parker really did have a toilet seat stuck to his head. I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry or cry while laughing. There was my beautiful Parker, his big blue eyes blinking wildly from underneath the toilet seat.

We tried everything to get it off. Nothing was working and Parker's forehead was getting really red. I started digging through the diaper bag looking for anything that would free my child from the binding situation he had gotten himself into. I came across a jar of Vaseline; if this didn't work we were making an embarrassing trip to the emergency room.

Luckily, by the grace of God, the Vaseline worked. Parker had a huge purplish blue mark on his forehead and his hair had taken on a life of it's own but he was otherwise unscathed. The toilet seat on the other hand hadn't fared as well. After everything we had done to it, it was no longer suitable for use, even if the average age of the user was three.

A few minutes later, I dragged the kids out of church. I wasn't entirely sure I could ever show my face in there again. The day was a wash and it didn't look like I was going to get my hour of peace.

**~o~O~o~**

We met my dad and step-monster for lunch before going home. After explaining why it looked like Parker's hair hadn't been washed in a week and the mark on his forehead, I had to listen to Sheila aka the step-monster, whining like a banshee about what I was doing with my time and how the children would be better behaved if I _just_ had a routine. For the record, I do have a routine, a very well mapped out routine, however, my children always have an agenda which always seems to derail my best laid plans. I began defending my kids, as any mother would do, stating that in fact they were angels in comparison to a lot of others we know.

Owen, in full blown snatch and grab mode, aimed his hand at a bottle of water on the center of the table. He misjudged how close his chair was to the table and slipped off, using the tablecloth to save himself from hitting the floor. Unfortunately for him, and everyone else at the table, he still ended up in a heap on the floor together with the entire contents of the table having pulled it all down with him. The step-monster just clasped her hands together and mouthed '_see, I told you so'_ to my dad, who to his credit, was trying to get Finley to stop laughing.

**~o~O~o~**

When we finally got home, I was spent and all the mess was still there. I guess I was hoping that some magical cleaning fairy was going to make her way to my house and clean the destruction with a few sprinkles of pixie dust and a wave or two of her magic wand. Yeah, no such luck.

I simply didn't have the energy to clean the house. The kids obviously used weapons of mass destruction to make the mess and it was going to take more than a broom and mop to clean it. It was going to take hours to get everything back to the way it was before.

While my kids ran around the house like crazy people, i.e.: Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone, I sat on the couch and cried. I cried because Jesse wasn't home and his flight was delayed. I cried because the kids were rowdy. I cried because the house was a train wreck. I cried because I simply didn't know what else to do.

I put the kids to bed early, slipped back into my stained pajama bottoms and hid. Yes, I hid. I hid in my closet with a bag of Mint Milano's, a glass of milk, my favorite blanket and my laptop. I sat on the floor stuffing my face and watching vine videos. I finally had my alone time but was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

I heard Jesse walk into the house kicking off his shoes at the door but I didn't dare leave the cocoon I created for myself in the closet. It was warm and for the first time in ten days, I was comfortable and most importantly... alone. I could hear Jesse's grumblings about the mess as he became witness to the destruction that was currently our home.

"Babe! I'm home!" he called out and then I heard him drop his messenger bag onto the kitchen counter. How did I know this? Because every evening his routine was the same. But in all honesty, I also heard the yelp of surprise as he realized he'd laid his $250 leather messenger bag in something slimy on the counter top.

I gave no response; responding would take too much energy and energy was in extremely short supply. Besides, I wasn't sure at that point that I actually wanted to be found. And if I was found, I wasn't sure that I could be trusted with my husband's livelihood. Part of me wanted to say, "tag, you're it!" as I ran, not walked, but ran out of the house with my suitcase in hand as fast as I could to the nearest spa.

In his sweetest voice, he called out again. "Babe, I'm home."

'_Awww,'_ I thought to myself, '_he starting to sound a little worried because he can't find me. Oh well. Perhaps he should see the destruction that his children leave behind them on a daily basis. He might finally understand what I do day in and day out, every single day. It's HIS children that make the freaking mess, it must be in his HIS genes.'_

I took a bite of another Mint Milano and listened to him slowly make his way back through the living room. I'd left the small table lamp on, as I always did but it only cast a dim light, not enough to see... and yep, there was the yelp from finding Owen's Legos on the floor. He was still calling out my name but now it was being stage whispered, hissed almost.

I heard him bellow as he sidestepped over Parker's fire truck, which I distinctly remember telling him not to leave there because someone might trip over it and hurt themselves. I had meant me, of course. Always on the look out for the potential threat, danger or incessant germ, I know I had forgotten how to have fun and Parker leaving his fire truck out had just meant he wasn't done playing with it.

I could hear Jesse by the sofa and then by the fireplace. I could hear the scrape of the metal on the brick as he picked up the fire poker. '_Oh God, he's arming himself.'_ I think to myself, but instead of calling out to him, I ate another Mint Milano as I lined up the next ten vine videos.

"Beca!" I heard him hiss in the direction of the stairs as I watch a puppy in snow boots attempt to drag a stick six times its body length up some stairs. "I think we've been robbed. I'm calling the cops."

I know I should move, but in my closet, I am safe. It's quiet and warm and cozy and for a moment, I am the self-proclaimed Queen Of Closetland. I'm not covered from head to toe in glitter, glue & paint, I don't smell of kid grime or funk, nor do I have six wonky braids on the left side of my head courtesy of Finley.

"Beca?"

Oh yes, I'd forgotten about Jesse already; he's seen the mess and he's pissed about it. I'm pissed because I've already mentally calculated that six hundred and ninety billion germs have taken up residence in my home since I last cleaned it. I heard him squeal and guessed he'd found the pile of purple stickiness on the area rug that no amount of Resolve and OxiClean would ever get out.

"Oh my God!" I heard him yell; the burglars clearly forgotten about as his socks squished into the puddle of muck that Owen had declared was a portal to another world. He'd obviously been eavesdropping on Jesse's conversations about a movie he was asked to work on in 2016 with Steven Spielberg. "What in the actual fuck?"

I know I should have called out to see if he needed help but part of me wanted him to see the life I lead and how much effort I had to put into keeping his home clean and germ free for when he got home at night.

I could hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. Damn, he was going to find me. I knew he would. Who was I trying to kid?

I heard him enter our bedroom, "Bec… babe, I'm home."

That's when I realized that I'd probably left a trail of crumbs and muffin papers that the mint Milano's came in, to my not so secret hiding spot in the closet. I clicked on another vine video, determined to keep my cocoon safe for another five seconds and... then the door opened.

"Hey babe."

Looking up from the video I was currently watching, "You're home. Hi."

"What happened?" he asked me with a puzzled look on his face.

"I'm just taking a little break. Getting in some Mommy time."

He begins to cautiously walk closer. "Ok."

I showed him the empty bag of Mint Milano's, "I ate the whole bag."

"Yeah? Well… that's ok." he said as he sat on the floor next to me, laying the fire poker down. "Seriously, the whole bag?"

"Yeah and just so you know, I'm hiding. You weren't supposed to find me."

"Hiding? From what?"

"The kids. The house. It's all so awful."

"It's not awful."

"It's awful."

"No, it's not awful."

"It's awful." I whine as I turn back to my laptop.

"Ok, look… it's bad, but it's not awful."

"Sooo bad Jess… sooo awful."

"Ok, I mean, some of it _is_ awful." he finally admits. I just want to cry. Like seriously lay down and cry. "What are you watching?" he asks as he snuggles closer to me.

"Vine videos. And before you say I shouldn't watch them I already know that. They're mushy and make me have feelings."

Jesse reached over to grab for something but I'm too busy watching what's playing out on the screen of my laptop to be worried about him. I've told him I want to be alone and he just doesn't get it. He's been away for ten days. Ten days with absolutely no responsibilities. Ten days of living in a luxury highrise apartment in Manhattan while I've been home with three very active, very curious, very rambunctious children and no break.

Then I have an idea. I'm small and I'm fast. I can get out of the closet and make a mad dash for the van aka my freedom. But when I turn around so that I can stand up, there's Jesse with the biggest bouquet of red roses and his signature smile. "Happy Mother's Day!"

Damn it! The waterworks start and now I'm gonna need a canoe to get out of this God-forsaken closet. "That's so sweet." I manage to say through sobs and tears.

"What? What's wrong Bec?" Jesse asks, suddenly extremely concerned. "It's just roses. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna get up and clean." I tell him as I try to get up off the closet floor. "I'm gonna clean… I'm going right now." I say as I continue to sit there as if some kind of magical force is going to help me up, push me out of the closet and in the direction of the mess. "Ok, here we go…" Jesse is watching me intently and trying to figure out just exactly what happened to the wife he'd left ten days before. "Nothing's happening." I look at Jesse. My poor husband is bewildered and for the first time in his life, he's at a loss for words. "I'm paralyzed from stress."

Jesse scratches the back of his neck and, as gently as possible, says, "Baby, I don't think that's a thing."

I growl. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I just... I just need a second."

"I don't think you're fine." Jesse admits. "Please calm down. Everything's going to be ok."

In the twelve years that we've been together, Jesse hasn't learned yet that men should never tell an angry, emotional women to calm down. It's like trying to baptize a cat... it just ain't gonna happen. I was getting ready to unleash my inner beast on him when I saw the magic pair of Louboutin heels Jesse gave me the day I had Parker. They really are magical. Absolutely, stunningly gorgeous really. They have sophisticated lace leather detailing with embedded Hematite crystals and a scalloped vamp. I saw them in a magazine while I was vegging out on the couch one afternoon. Jesse knew I wasn't feeling sexy, I was eight months pregnant with our third child. Of course, I was down on myself but dreaming about those shoes, it was like being in Heaven.

I got to wear them to the Golden Globes later that year. Jesse was a nominee and I needed to look the part if I was going to attend. I totally rocked those heels. I wore all five inches of those bad boys and I walked around like I was Queen of the Universe.

I gasped softly, "Oh... I love these shoes! I haven't worn these in, like, forever."

"Well, they're good shoes." Jesse said nodding his head in agreement as he remembered what he paid for them. I hadn't asked him to buy me a pair of three thousand dollar shoes, he did that all on his own.

I couldn't help it, I sobbed, "They make my legs look so good!"

"Oh babe, come on. You look beautiful in everything you wear."

"I'm ok, I'm gonna be fine."

"It's ok, we'll make it okay." Jesse told me as he kissed my face.

Crawling into Jesse's lap I mumbled "I wanna go to sleep." I told him as I was getting comfortable. "I love you." I continued to mumble as I begin to drift off.

Jesse took a deep breath, "I love you so much more. Just... Just sleep here for a little while." he said while rubbing my back.

And that was the night we both slept on the floor of the closet. It was probably the best night sleep I had had in two years, though I can't say the same for Jesse. He sat up against the wall holding me all night in what was probably not the most comfortable position.

After all the years we've been together, Jesse is still my port in the storm, protecting me from the craziness and chaos that has become our life. With Jesse by my side, I can conquer just about anything... even the germs breeding by the billions that await me when I wake up.


End file.
